by Rose Harper
I don’t give a shit if he is my father. I don’t give a rat’s ass why he did the things he did. The only thing people like us uphold the most in our world is our women, and he’s let his down in the most upsetting of ways. I was lost to that opinion for quite some time, but since Carina has come into my life, I now get it.
Even though she’s fucking crazy, I get it.
Women are precious. They deserve to be taken care of. They earned the right to be put on a pedestal for all to see.
They’re goddamn queens for the shit they have to put up with.
What they don’t deserve is to be murdered for something that was out of their hands. And knowing my mother, that situation was most definitely not her doing. She’d never hurt a fly in the years I knew her. If anything, she’s what kept our familia as strong as it used to be.
Now, little by little, we’re all pulling apart. We’re nothing like we used to be.
“I have to kill him,” I whisper, utter defeat in my voice as my jaw clenches tight.
I’m straining within everything in me right now to appear unfazed, aloof. When in reality, I’ve already killed my father six different ways. All consisting of things right here on the dinner table.
The sound of silverware clinking barely breeches the sound of my pulse thudding in my ears. My eyes trek across the people with downcast eyes as they demolish the meal placed in front of them. I know most, if not all, are reeling inside. Wondering how the man who used to be such a steadfast and fearless leader could stoop to the point he had to have his loving wife taken out.
“Just eat,” Carina whispers, then I feel the softness of her hand splaying over mine.
My eyes connect with hers, seeing the pain I feel inside reflected back at me. I didn’t even have to tell her what happened in front of the house that night, because she already knew by the time I came back inside. And with an unspoken agreement, we left everyone downstairs as we retreated to my—our—room so she could take my mind off it all.
Carina knew how close to the edge I was—practically feeling the ire as if it were a part of her. She was just as upset—just as murderous—as I was before she took my hand and led me up the stairs.
I wanted to peel out of there. Make my father admit all the shit he’s done and lied about over the years. But, she’s the reason I was able to stop and truly think about my situation. She’s the reason my father isn’t lying in a box somewhere decomposing.
“I want to make him pay,” I say, lowering my voice.
“And you will.” She pats my hand, that familiar vicious grin spreading across her face. “We will.”
“Mateo, I don’t mean to intrude on your private discussion, but there is something we need to discuss.”
I can’t stop the groan from surfacing. Until we came down to dinner, I forgot all about Father Avery still being here. And even still, his presence didn’t matter in the scheme of things. I’ve been too lost in my thoughts about what I’m going to do about my father to bring myself to worry about him.
“Now really isn’t the time, Father,” I say, sighing.
“It may not be the time, but this is something that needs to be discussed.”
“Didn’t you hear him?” Gavino inserts, fuming.
Gavino is many things, but astonishingly, he’s never been the type of person to knowingly chastise a man of the cloth. So, considering he’s being short with Father Avery, he knows the kind of stress I’m under, and he’s being sympathetic. Which is something he’s not known for.
“My dear boy, things may not need to be approached, but that does not mean they will go away,” Father Avery says, giving Gavino a hard stare.
“Enough about this fucking wedding!” Gavino’s anger surprises all of us at the table, as he stands to his full height, looming over the father. It’s as if he’s allowed it to simmer for so long that now it’s at the point of boiling over. “He’s not getting married and that’s that!”
It’s not the idea that marriage isn’t appetizing. Maybe just the wrong timing for all of it. If it were any other time, I could possibly entertain the idea of getting married in a private ceremony. But now is not the time, and today is not the day. I have more pressing matters resting on my plate than who I’m going to tie myself to for the rest of my life.
Most importantly, how I’m going to make my father suffer for the shit he’s brought onto this family.
“That’s not the type of news I was hoping to hear.” Of course it wasn’t. It’s not the news the papa wants to hear, either.
“I couldn’t care less what you hoped to hear. This is his life. People make mistakes all the time, and he shouldn’t be forced into something because he made the wrong decision!”
There are times that Gavino loses his temper, allowing his emotions to guide his actions. Every person in this house is used to his level of menace going from zero to a hundred within the span of six seconds. So, it’s not surprising that he’s allowing someone to have it. But what is surprising is the fact he’s telling Father Avery to shove it. A goddamn priest.
“It’s okay, Gavino,” I assure him, flicking my wrist. Turning my attention to Father Avery, my eyes glance over at Carina, who seems deep in thought, before they turn toward him. “I appreciate you trying to keep me out of hot water with the papa, but we both know I’m not in the right head space to think properly. Just give me some—”
A dainty throat clears beside me, causing my words to cut off as my eyes stare into Carina’s. It’s the same hard, glaring look that I’ve come to look forward to when I open my eyes every day, but it’s clear we’re not meant for each other. I need to defuse the situation before it gets out of hand. Lord only knows what Carina will do to Father Avery if he doesn’t put brakes on this conversation. She wanted to kill him, and that was just over him bringing Luca. What the hell will she do if he keeps talking about signing her life away?
Giving me a chilling smile, she winks before turning her attention toward Father Avery, causing him to fidget under her gaze. All the men around the table fall silent, some with utensils halfway between their mouth and their plate.
Lucio makes to butt into the conversation, but one thinly veiled glare from Carina has him shutting his mouth, reclining back into his chair. When she lands her eyes back onto Father Avery’s, the man looks white as a ghost, his face paling more with each passing second.
“Mateo is already mine. A few pieces of paper aren’t going to change that. Still, if it will get you out of my sight and back where you belong, bring it on, holy man. I’m ready for this shit.”
11
CARINA
Did I really just say that? My heart lodges in my throat as tingles start at the base of my spine, rendering me speechless. All the men snap their attention to me, mouths hanging agape as if they couldn’t possibly have heard what they did. Trust me, I’m just as surprised as they are. It’s not like I meant to say that; it just came out that way.
Mateo and I have an unspoken agreement. We don’t have to get married because we both know now that our marriage was just a ploy to get me close to him to I could take him out. Now, it all seems like a moot point, and I have no idea the fresh hell that just came over me to say what I did.
Maybe it was the way Father Avery was patronizing Mateo. It could be the fact I just wanted this conversation to cease. To be honest, I don’t know the exact rhyme or reason. All I do know is I wanted that fucking priest to shut his gob. Since I can’t kill him, I said the next best thing. Only, I’m not sure it was so good, and I didn’t exactly think it through.
“Carina,” Mateo says, his voice drawing my eyes toward his.
“Yes?” My pulse is beating so harshly I can barely hear past the raging thump, thump, thump in my ears. Please, don’t tell me to repeat myself.
“Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” he asks incredulously.
It’s not exactly what I thought he’d say, and to be honest, it kind of pisses me off. It’s like he’s saying I’m not goo
d enough to be his wife. Like I miss that one important piece of myself that makes him want to commit himself to someone like me.
“Does the thought of marrying me offend you?” I query, eyes hardening. If he says yes, I swear to God I will deball him myself.
“I don’t think that’s what he means, kitty,” Dom interrupts.
Snapping my eyes to his, I narrow them in caution, my deathly glare effectively shutting him up. “I don’t believe I asked you, Dom. If I want anything out of you, I’ll yank your goddamn chain. Got it?”
I turn my gaze back to Mateo, seeing him shift in his seat, nervous energy begging to be set free. I don’t care why the fuck he’s nervous, because before I came to live here this was always the plan. It wasn’t until my true purpose came to light that his outlook changed. It shouldn’t be that hard to change again. I mean, he fucks me, so it shouldn’t be that much of a hardship to marry me.
What the fuck am I thinking? This is all a recipe for disaster.
“Now, answer me.”
A flare of heat burns within his molten brown irises before he turns his attention to the men surrounding the dining table, all of whom have stopped consuming their dinner to watch the spectacle unfolding in front of them.
“If you would please excuse us, men,” he says, and I note the deep richness of his voice. It causes a shiver to race through me, stunning me silent.
I quietly watch as all the men get up in an orderly fashion—even my brother and the priest—as they make their way out the door. Luca casts a wary glance over his shoulder when he gets to the opening, his eyes flicking between Mateo and me. I can practically feel the unspoken words on the tip of his tongue, but instead of saying anything, he gives me a look as if to say watch yourself before he turns on his heels, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.
Unbearable heat washes over me, flushing my cheeks with a stain of crimson. I fall back against my seat, feeling the heat of Mateo’s stare on me, yet I’m unable to bring myself to peer in his direction yet. No words come to mind; it’s just a blank, empty slate of nothingness.
Yet, it all becomes painfully clear that I just opened a door that was meant to stay closed. Carelessly, I ripped through the lock and chains, allowing them to fall to the ground with a loud clank.
Finally, after several minutes of silence, Mateo’s voice reaches my ears. The timbre of his voice is filled with hope, longing. “Did you mean what you said?”
“I-I …” I stammer, my flush deepening in embarrassment.
“Spit it out, kitty.”
The way he says the nickname Dom gave me so long ago causes a full ache to bloom in my core. His words are soft, heated, yet still full of delicious mischief. It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve seen this side of Mateo.
Relaxed. Free. In control.
“I-I …” I can’t get anything more out. It’s as if my tongue is twisted inside my mouth and all the way down my throat, making it hard for me to swallow, let alone speak.
A chair grates against the tile flooring, causing my eyes—the ones I didn’t know dropped to the top of the table—to rise and meet his fiery, swirling depths. His posture is rigid, jaw tight. His stature is hard to read as he leans back in his chair with his legs open and relaxed. I honestly don’t know how to digest this situation, since it’s been so long since I’ve found myself here.
I also don’t know if I want to.
“Come. Here.” His deep, gravelly, rough voice has taken on a seductive lilt, enveloping me in heat and whispered promises.
Scooting back my chair, I stand to my full height. Resting my hand on top of the table, I balance myself as I close the distance between us. His eyes devour me from the tips of my toes to the dark, luscious hair hanging loose on my head. They darken—the pupil almost consuming the iris all together.
He looks dangerous, sadistic—fucking sexy as hell. He’s every piece of hell I’ve ever wanted, and I’m going to relish the burn as he takes what he wants—consequences be damned.
“Closer, kitty,” he seduces, crooking a finger as he leers at me.
Shifting closer, I come to a stop between his parted thighs. His eyes continue to eat me up, consuming every inch of me until I’m nothing more than a mess of wetness in front of him. My clit throbs painfully; my nipples harden into stiff points of arousal against my lacy half-cup bra.
“Take your clothes off,” he says, his raspy voice surrounding me in a blanket of desire and lust.
“I-I …” Why can’t my ignorant brain piece together more than one letter of a sentence? Jesus, it’s like my mind has officially fried, and the only thing I’m left with is staring down at this god of a man who brings me nothing but unadulterated pleasure.
He’s so different from the way he used to be with me. When I first woke up from my coma, he was this hard, unyielding force of nature who was a complete and total chauvinistic asshole. It was his way or the grave—there was no option of leaving. He demanded loyalty, respect, and anything less than the best was grounds for him snuffing out your life.
But somewhere along the way, during all the shit we’ve been dealing with, he’s changed. Became this person, I find myself wanting to know. It makes me idly wonder what it would have been like if neither one of us had seen the side of shattered humanity that we have. Would we be normal, red-blooded American people with a hunger for life and thirst for love? Would we even believe in that four-letter word that causes people to get weak in the knees and their hearts to race?
Somewhere deep down, I want to say we would. That we would be the type of people who craved for the perfect life, having two point five kids, a golden retriever named Jack, and a white picket fence.
Nevertheless, since we have seen the trudges of civilian life, we know that nothing ordinary could ever happen for a couple of people like us. That if we want to have our version of the happily ever after, we have to take it by any means necessary.
It may be raw, fucked up, and completely unhinged. But our life is our life, and we only get one of those. It’s best to go through it as accepting who you were made into, instead of trying to be something you’re not.
“Hmm, I do hope you make me ask again,” he hums in excitement, his lips pulling back in his infamous smirk.
“I-I …” Swallowing hard, I push past the emotions stifling me. “I don’t think this is the time or place for this.”
“Does it look like I care, Carina?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “No, I don’t believe I do. Now, strip for me or I’ll do it for you.”
Swallowing past my nerves, I take a step away and raise my hands to the ties just under my breasts. Deftly undoing them, my shirt falls open, revealing the lacy, see-through bra underneath. His eyes stay on mine instead of falling to my chest. Shrugging it off my shoulders, it softly lands on the ground. Unbuttoning my skintight leather pants, I hook my thumbs into the waistband of them, then as seductively as possible, shimmy out of them.
Only when they’re to my knees do I remember I forgot to take off the black, scuffed shitkickers. Bending over at the waist, I quickly untie one then the other. After toeing them off, I raise my eyes from the floor, only to cease all movement.
There … for all to see is a sight that causes me to salivate. A large bulge stands at attention in the front of his pants, yet he appears as carefree and aloof as he was just moments before. While I’m standing here, barely able to breathe.
“It’s not going to bite, kitty.”
“You don’t know that,” I reply breathlessly.
A dry chuckle escapes him as he slowly slides forward in his seat. My breath catches in my throat when his fingers skim along the outside of my thigh, slowly trailing upward, coming to rest against the outside of my thong. He hooks his finger under the strap and my blood heats as I feel his callused finger trek across my silky flesh. His touch causes goose bumps to rise along the surface of my skin, making me all the more aware of how one little graze of his fingers can set my entire being abl
aze.
“Mateo,” I gasp, swaying toward him.
“Yes?” he asks, keeping up with his own version of pleasurable torment.
“We can’t.”
My eyes fall to his mouth as his tongue runs across the plump bottom lip, wetting it with a coat of his saliva. The slickness of it beckons me for a taste, seeing if his lips are just as sinful as his actions.
“You agreed to become my wife, Carina. You don’t have to, and we’ve both talked about this. Yet, you’re still willing to tie yourself to me, knowing how incredibly fucked up I am.”
Finally removing my offending pants, I come to my full height, standing in front of him in nothing more than a matching frilly thong and lacy bra. He takes a few seconds longer to drink me in, then stands. His abrupt change in position causes me to step back into the edge of the table, the sound of his dinnerware clinking as I’m forced to sit on the edge.
He towers over me. Mysterious, brooding lust is a mask across his face.
I look up at him.
We’re not touching.
We make no move to close the distance between us.
The lack of contact makes the promise of what’s to come even more exciting, even though the reasons for this becoming a reality are for the wrong reasons. He should want me because he wants me, not because I’m helping him save face with that priest of his.
“Do you want me?” I ask hesitantly, wishing I could slap myself for being so fucking sappy, but I can’t force myself to break this moment.
I’m supposed to be hard, callous, and cruel. But, as I stand before him now, I’m nothing more than a flower he’s coaxing open to a full bloom.
“You look absolutely appetizing, kitty,” he seduces, taking a step toward me.
